


my love is a planet revolving your heart

by smokesque



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: 5+1 Things, Cuddling & Snuggling, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, Future Fic, Kissing, M/M, Marriage, Marriage Proposal, Post-Canon, Sharing a Bed, it's soft !!!! it's just soft !!!! i don't care !!!!!, they're in love !!!!!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2019-06-23
Packaged: 2020-05-16 19:32:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19324660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smokesque/pseuds/smokesque
Summary: five times neil told his boyfriend he loves him (and one time he told his husband)





	my love is a planet revolving your heart

**Author's Note:**

> this is a gift for the wonderful [alex](https://andrewminyaard.tumblr.com/) as part of the pissboy extravaganza. (it's also a week late. sorry alex.) much love to all the pissboys and especially to alex, for being our mascot and also the coolest guy i know.
> 
> title is from [superstar](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ByDHbOky47A) by marina
> 
> p.s. this is a non-exhaustive list. andrew and neil say i love you literally all the time because it's true and it's nice to hear it and nora doesn't know anything about them thank u and goodnight

(i)

The year after Andrew graduated, Neil’s heart liquidised and dripped out his fingertips every time he opened his fist. He had chosen the Foxes long ago and spent the past four years carving his future into the world. It was too late to flip the board and run, but he had grounded himself in people, in  _his_  Foxes, and in Andrew most of all. The roots he had planted spread themselves across five states and two continents and Neil felt weightless between them, leaves in the breeze begging for a soft landing.

The year after Andrew graduated, Neil threw himself into night practices to avoid Fox Tower as much as possible. The once foreign weight of Andrew in bed beside him had become a welcome presence and Neil felt stranded without it, moored awake on the vast expanse of empty mattress with no one to guide him into waves of sleep. He and Robin had coined a double room rather than having to share with a third like most of the Foxes, because, though he denied it, Wymack  _did_  play favourites and Neil was one. It was just as well because their teammates were as good as strangers for all Neil thought of them, but the vacancy of their dorm was palpable.

Neil, who had never felt comfortable in a crowded room, who slept curled around his heart to keep it guarded, found that he had forgotten how to exist in silence. He had grown used to the bickering and laughter of the cousins filling empty spaces, the soundtrack of their video games or the rise and fall of their breaths providing a lullaby to draw him to sleep. Robin was a hand at his back and a peaceful sound in the middle of the night, but she was quiet by nature and she couldn’t fill the space at his side when he lay sleepless in bed.

Andrew’s contract bound him to D.C. for two seasons, though he was never further than a phone call away and he drove down every second weekend. (It had been monthly flights to begin with, after he left the Maserati to Neil and Robin back at PSU, but he spent his first paycheque on something flashy and expensive that Neil still didn’t know the name of, and his visits became far more regular.) Still, Neil missed him violently.

When Neil woke with nightmares biting his ankles and spent the day running autopilot, Robin was perceptive and polite enough to bunk in with the other juniors, giving Neil the privacy to call Andrew late into the night. Andrew picked up on the second ring like always and the familiarity felt warm and whole, relaxing Neil for the first time in days. Andrew never answered the phone with a greeting, always waiting for Neil to speak first, but Neil wasn’t sure he could find the words just yet. Instead, he let them sit in half-silence, listening to the gentle wave of Andrew’s breath. It eased something erratic inside him until he forgot why his heart was beating a mosso, only that it had been nine days since he had last seen Andrew or slept properly, and his energy had flatlined.

“Hi,” he said eventually, when his breathing became regular and natural.

“Robin says you haven’t been sleeping,” Andrew said almost instantly, and Neil could hear the thick layer of concern that enveloped the sentence. He knew Andrew would show up at Fox Tower that very night if Neil asked him to, but the panic had abandoned his lungs, seeped out in the breaths he matched to Andrew’s, and he felt settled and content.

“Not really. I miss you.”

“I know,” Andrew said, which meant  _I miss you too_. “Tell me you’re not at the court.”

“No, I’m in bed.” Neil shifted, rustling the bed sheets loudly as evidence.

“Dinner?”

“Robin made mac and cheese earlier,” Neil said. “I’m doing okay. Really, I just miss you.”

“Okay.” Andrew breathed softly into the phone. Neil pressed his cheek into his pillow and relaxed into the familiar sound. “You know I worry.”

“I know. Thanks Drew,” Neil said, voice mumbled from the way his jaw was forced against the pillow. He heard the smile in Andrew’s next exhale and wanted so badly to see, to touch, to feel.

“Will you stay until I fall asleep?” he asked.

“As long as you need,” Andrew said but his voice sounded distant, clouded by the exhaustion slipping through Neil’s head.

“Love you,” he murmured and fell asleep to the quiet sound of Andrew echoing his words back to him.

 

(ii)

The cats were a spontaneous decision and they were mostly Andrew’s fault. As far as Neil was aware, Andrew had left to meet with his psychologist and returned with two wiry kittens and a giant bag of cat biscuits. Andrew gave him a vague rundown of the details (Mel fostered rescue cats and Andrew, apparently, had an affinity for ugly, neglected things) but what mattered was they were  _parents_ now. Neil loved it.

King Fluffkins was the feistier sibling, living life with her claws out, and she regularly picked fights with their trouser legs as they passed by. She liked chicken, socks, and climbing anywhere and everywhere she shouldn’t, but Neil had discovered she also liked belly rubs from people she trusted. Despite her hostility, it only took her a few weeks to curl up on the couch beside him, baring her stomach and affectionately digging her teeth into his hand.

Sir Fat Cat McCatterson was timid and flighty but warmed up quickly as long as there was a lap to curl up in. He liked biscuits, sunlight, and Andrew. (Neil had wondered about their bond for months until he came home to Sir on the kitchen counter and Andrew feeding him out of his hand.) He grew from a scrawny kitten to a fluffy, fat cat within a matter of months and Neil liked to joke that if he didn’t watch his weight, Kevin would try to put him on a diet too.

Their little high-rise apartment was big enough for the two of them only because they didn’t mind living in one another’s personal space, and with two cats added to the mix it became cramped. They built climbing frames and scratching posts and luxury beds for Sir and King all over the floor until getting from the bedroom to the kitchen was a treacherous maze. Still, Neil  _loved_ it.

The cats filled the empty spaces when Andrew was out of town for meetings and promos, and Neil found that they made excellent conversationalists. With an unusual silence spilling into the apartment, Neil appreciated being able to fill the air with chatter. King liked to perch on the fridge and listen to him talk while he cooked, following him across the kitchen with her beady eyes, and Sir would happily wind between his ankles and meow back at him when he lapsed into silence.

When Andrew had been gone for six days and counting, Neil finally cracked and let the cats climb into the double bed with him. Andrew’s side had grown cold in its abandonment, so Neil built a nest of blankets and curled around the sleeping bodies of Sir and King. He pressed one hand to Sir’s stomach, evened his breaths in time with the rise of warm fur, and fell asleep within minutes for the first time all week.

Neil woke before the sunrise to a yowl and a crash. He shot upwards, wide awake within seconds, heart pounding in his ears. He knew he’d locked the doors and the windows, and breaking glass would have woken him long before whoever it was made it to the bedroom.

“Shit,” said a familiar voice, and Neil’s heart slowed a fraction.

“Andrew?” he said, and a hand found his elbow in the dark, squeezing lightly.

“Thanks for the trap, Neil.”

Neil laughed and reached across the bed. King had made a hasty escape after Andrew’s intrusion, but Sir was crouched and quivering in the blanket nest. Neil pushed a hand comfortingly through his fur and scratched his back gently.

“I wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow.”

“I got an early flight,” Andrew said. Neil’s eyes adjusted to the dark a little more and he could make out the shape of Andrew’s hunched back from where he was bent over something on the floor. “I think I broke the lamp.”

“Broke it how?”

“It’s on the floor in about thirty separate pieces. I’d say it’s pretty much unsalvageable.”

With the adrenaline dissipating, drowsiness crept slowly back over Neil’s body and he lay down against the pillow, one hand still clutched in Sir’s fur.

“We’ll deal with it in the morning. Come to bed,” he said. He heard Andrew scoop the shattered lamp into a pile on the floor and stand up. He moved quietly around the room, taking off his binder and switching his jeans for sweats, before his shadow loomed over the bed and the mattress dipped slightly.

“Shit,” Andrew said again. “What the fuck?”

“What now?” Neil asked, propping himself up on one elbow to peer through the dark in an attempt to make out the new problem.

“I think Sir pissed himself in fear.”

Andrew leant further over the bed, patting down the sheets with one hand.

“Sir wouldn’t do that, would you, baby?” Neil said, stroking Sir. “He’s a big boy.”

“It’s either that or  _you_  did. I’d be careful where you put the blame.”

Neil laughed again and shifted back to lie down. “Whatever. We can deal with that tomorrow too. Come here.”

“I am not sleeping in a cat piss bed,” Andrew said, but he was already climbing across the blanket nest that covered his side of the bed. He plopped heavily on top of Neil, slotting their legs between one another and pressing his forehead against the side of Neil’s neck. He dug one hand through Neil’s hair and tucked the other behind his neck, settling himself comfortably on Neil’s chest.

“This is your fault,” he mumbled in mock annoyance, but his voice lacked any real heat. They were pressed tight enough that Neil could feel the words roll out of Andrew’s mouth and across his skin, tickling his neck and making him shiver.

“Love you,” Neil said, cheeks bunched around a poorly suppressed smile. Andrew tilted his head back a little and, though he couldn’t see clearly in the half-light, Neil knew he was glaring.

“Yeah, right,” he said. Neil curled an arm around Andrew’s body, tucking him closer, and dropped a kiss against the top of his head.

“Say you love me,” he said into Andrew’s hair.

Andrew sighed, like he was breathing under the weight of Neil’s burden, but he pressed his lips to Neil’s neck and smiled against his skin as he said, “I love you, idiot.”

 

(iii)

 **Drew**  
takeout?

 **You**  
There’s food at home.

 **Drew**  
it’s off season

 **You**  
And? There’s still food at home.

 **Drew**  
takeout for one then

 **You**  
>:3  
Chinese?

 **Drew**  
indian. stop using that face

 **You**  
It’s Sir’s face. He’s mad at me for not being you.

 **Drew**  
we all are  
tell him im home soon

 **You**  
He says “:3c”.

 **Drew**  
shut up ur so weird

 **You**  
You love me.

 **Drew**  
maybe

 **You**  
:D  
Love you too.  
Sir says “:3 !!!”

 **Drew**  
give him a kiss from me

 **You**  
Where’s mine?

 **Drew**  
on its way

 **You**  
<3

 **Drew**  
gay lol  
<3

 

(iv)

Neil discovered he liked gardening shortly after they moved into their house. They had outgrown their small apartment and, with a long-term contract keeping them in Denver, it felt right to find something more permanent.

Their something more permanent was a little cottage tucked into a cul-de-sac, at the end of a flagstone path. It was bordered by neighbours and backed by an overgrown yard, and it was safe and warm and  _home_. To their right lived a family, as wild and untamed as their garden. Neil didn’t know how many kids there were, but he was sure he’d never seen the same one twice. To their left lived an elderly couple, every bit as refined as their right-hand neighbours were unruly. Marie loved baking and was ecstatic to find a willing taste-tester in Andrew, so Neil spent his weekends with Aarsha in the back garden. She showed him their vegetable patch and their flowerbeds and the row of strawberry plants she was coaxing into blossom. She bought Neil his own little gardening set for his first birthday in their new house, complete with everything from trowels, to gloves, to seed packets.

Neil set to work tackling the mess that had claimed the back entrance to their house. He weeded the lawn and turned the soil and cleaned out the little shed that had been claimed by spiders. Sir and King chased birds through the bushy undergrowth and raced each other up the acorn tree while Neil worked, and Andrew sat on the creaky garden swing and read, occasionally coming over to check the progress and bring Neil iced tea.

The days were long and honeyed as spring grew into summer, and their little garden began to take shape under Neil’s tender hand. He planted cabbages and carrots and celery in neat rows—Andrew turned up his nose at those, but he helped dig pockets in the soil anyway. They rebricked the path that wound down from the backdoor, fixed the holes in the roof of the shed, and replaced the garden swing with one that creaked less. The garden looked more and more inhabited as the days went on. Sir lazed on the sun-warm bricks and King bounced across the lawn, batting at butterflies and chasing her tail. Neil and Andrew would sit out there long into the evening, watching the sun set behind their fence.

As spring rolled around once more and their new house became old, Neil prepared the garden for a season of homegrown fruit and vegetables. Andrew didn’t share Neil’s green thumb or his passion, but he loved their home just as much and loved seeing Neil satisfied and content even more. He left to buy groceries one weekend while Neil was watering the flowers and returned with a surprise cradled in his arms.

When Neil heard the backdoor squeak open and looked up expecting to see Andrew, he was met instead by leaves and twigs protruding from the doorway. The small tree walked itself outside and Andrew peered around it, offering Neil a tender smile.

“It’s been a year,” he said, setting the potted tree down on the porch beside Neil. “I figured you were ready for the next level of gardening.”

Neil fingered one of the leaves, peering at the shape and colour of them and running the tip of his index finger over the pattern of their veins. He remembered pouring over gardening books in Marie and Aarsha’s sitting room, memorising the distinctive features of a thousand different plants.

“Is this a peach tree?” he asked in awe.

“A bonanza,” Andrew said. “There was a whole chapter about them in that book Aarsha gave you.”

“I remember,” Neil said. He couldn’t help the excited smile tilting his lips as he thought about the blushing fruits that would ripen from this tree. “There’s a space for it by the tomatoes.”

Andrew nodded and Neil’s excitement buzzed around his head. He’d never grown trees before, but he knew enough to give it a shot and Aarsha was never more than a fence away. Andrew was right: he was ready for the next level of gardening.

“I love you so much right now,” Neil said, because he did, and he was grateful, and he wanted Andrew to know. Andrew shoved Neil’s head away from him lightly, but he left his hand in Neil’s hair after the movement was done so Neil knew he wasn’t serious.

“Gross,” he said, and Neil laughed and it was loud and obnoxious and he was happy, because he was with Andrew and they had a peach tree and they were home. They were  _home_.

“You bought me a tree, Andrew. I know you love me too.”

“Gross,” Andrew said again and pulled Neil in for a kiss before he could say anything more.

 

(v)

Neil always woke late on Sundays. As he’d mellowed out with the years, he found more and more that he needed the day off. His body no longer ran on panic and he liked sleeping late on Sunday mornings, letting the daylight stretch far across their bedroom before he woke Andrew to start the day.

It was a rare thing for Andrew to get up before Neil and rarer still for him not to wake Neil in the process, so Neil was surprised when he opened his eyes to an empty bed, dust motes dancing in the strip of sunlight over Andrew’s abandoned pillow. The alarm clock blinked 11:02 and Neil stretched himself awake, turning over to look for signs of Andrew in the rest of the room. His binder was still folded atop their dresser from last night, but Neil’s old hoodie was gone from its heap on the floor and the door was cracked ajar.

Neil climbed out of bed, cracking his joints and letting a yawn stretch his mouth. He gathered a binder, a semi-clean singlet, and a pair of sweats that had passed between them so many times he couldn’t remember whether they had started out as his or Andrew’s, and slipped into the en suite for a shower. Clean and awake and hungry, Neil ventured to the kitchen in search of his breakfast and his boyfriend.

Andrew was at the stove, a frying pan in his hands and a plate steadily growing with pancakes to his left. He looked up when Neil padded barefoot into the room and smiled, reaching one hand out behind him. Neil slid their fingers together and leaned his jaw against Andrew’s shoulder to watch the pancake sizzle in front of them.

“Morning, baby,” Andrew said, his voice overflowing with something warm and familiar. Neil closed his eyes and let the affection wash over him, squeezing Andrew’s hand tightly in his own.

“Good morning, Drew. Breakfast?”

“Yeah. I picked some strawberries to go with yours.”

“Mm, thank you.” Neil kissed Andrew’s shoulder through his hoodie and let his lips rest there for several long seconds. Sundays were always languid, and he felt content to drift through it; he and Andrew, dust motes floating in the morning sun.

He stepped away from Andrew to set the table, lifting Sir to the floor and shooing him away towards the sitting room where he could find a new patch of sun to nap in. Andrew brought over the tower of pancakes, a bowl of fresh strawberries, whipped cream, and syrup. They ate quietly, ankles brushing under the table, and the peace settled all around them, capturing them in this gentle moment together. Neil remembered why he loved Sundays.

“Neil,” Andrew said, wiping cream from the corner of his lips with his thumb. He sucked the blob off his thumb and glanced over at King, who was digging her claws into the scratching post by the kitchen doorway. Neil bumped their knees together to get Andrew’s attention back and motioned for him to continue.

“I want to ask you something,” he said.

Neil nodded. “So ask me.”

Andrew looked at King again, then down at his lap, then in a rush he brought his fisted hand onto the table between them. When he moved his hand away, a little velveteen box remained. Neil’s heart stuttered in his chest.

“I know we haven’t talked about it or anything, so if you need time… Well, it would make things easier anyway. Legal things, I mean.”

Neil wanted desperately to look at Andrew, but his eyes were fixed to the box. It was maroon and soft and tiny, but it seemed to fill the room all the same. He wanted to rub his finger over its velvet lid, but he couldn’t quite remember how to move his limbs. He realised, several seconds too late, that Andrew was finished talking. He blinked his gaze away from the box and, finally, looked up at Andrew, eyes wide and lip sucked behind his front teeth.

“You’re asking me to marry you for legal reasons?” Neil said, because he didn’t know what else there was to say. He couldn’t remember the English language, suddenly, like the words he needed were caught somewhere, tangled around one another and incomprehensible at the back of his throat.

“No,” Andrew said, “I’m asking you to marry me because I love you.”

Neil felt the knot of words straining against his tongue soothe to sweet liquid and disappear down his throat. He smiled, a soft shape that he was still, after all these years, getting used to. He bumped Andrew’s knee under the table again and finally reached out to stroke the box, the velvet dipping beneath his finger.

“I love you too,” he said, soft and secret. And there it was: the word he had been searching so hard to find. “Yes.”

“Yes?” Andrew asked.

“Yes,” Neil agreed and then, because he couldn’t quite believe he’d said it, “Yes.”

“Okay,” Andrew said.

Neil felt like he was still relearning English. “Okay?”

“Yes.”

And then they were laughing somehow, and their ankles were interlocked under the table, and Andrew’s fingers were tender as they slid the ring onto Neil’s left hand, and it was Sunday, and the day was slow and warm, and Neil said, “yes, yes, yes,” until his lips were numb.

 

(+1)

Neil climbed into Andrew’s lap at their dinner table, pressing one sweaty cheek to the cool skin at Andrew’s collarbone where he had unbuttoned the top of his shirt. Their friends and family spilled across the room; bodies pressed tight as the music slipped into something more tranquil. Neil watched Erik tuck Nicky’s hair behind his ear and follow it with a kiss as they swayed in hazy circles on the outskirts of the dance floor.

“Did you finally burn off some of that energy?” Andrew asked, which Neil took to mean  _did you have fun?_

“Yeah,” he said, voice half-spun in his breathlessness. “Did you know Aaron can tango?”

“Yes. Nicky took classes for six months.”

Neil lifted his head to meet Andrew’s gaze and raised an eyebrow. Andrew shoved Neil’s face against his chest in mock annoyance, and Neil suppressed a small grin, feathering a kiss over Andrew’s skin.

“We borrowed his tapes and practised with each other when he was out,” Andrew said finally, which was exactly the answer Neil was hoping for.

“Show me later,” he said into Andrew’s collarbone.

“Absolutely not.”

“I’ll clean the litter tray this week.”

“Deal.”

The open hall was loud around them, filled with chatter and music and footsteps, but being with Andrew was its own bubble. Neil watched the lights stripe Andrew’s skin and hair, leaving him half-formed and beautiful. His right hand curved around Neil’s thigh, holding him steady against Andrew’s lap, and his left rested against the table in front of them. Neil lined their left hands up, slotting his fingers between Andrew’s so that their rings clinked lightly together.

“We did that,” he said, mostly to himself. It wasn’t a secret, but it felt too personal to share; the way his voice cracked and spilled itself all over the dance floor. Andrew’s fingers tightened against his thigh and he leaned forwards until his chin bumped Neil’s cheek.

“We did,” he agreed quietly. Neil knew it was as much a revelation to him as it was to Neil, though his voice held steadier when he spoke. He pressed his lips to the peak of Neil’s cheekbone, his nose resting in the corner of Neil’s eye and eyelashes fluttering against his skin, and whispered, “We did it, Neil.”

A full-body shiver ran up Neil’s spine, tickling his neck and leaving goosebumps across his exposed wrists. He curled his fingers under Andrew’s palm on the table, watching how their ring fingers slid together: skin against skin, gold against gold.

He tuned out the sounds of the wedding reception and let Andrew’s breaths fill his ears and his lungs until their collective rise and fall was the only thing he knew. He thought about their house and their cats and their family and everything they shared, and he thought about everything he had never been before Andrew.

He knew love in every language now: in quiet German, breathed into his skin in the dead of night; in stuttered French, Andrew’s tongue curving over the unfamiliar sounds; in ASL, again and again and again, across crowded rooms; in loud Russian, at the altar in front of all their friends, something secret cut open but only for them. He knew it reflexively, intrinsically, wholly, but Neil didn’t think he would ever get tired of hearing it, seeing it, feeling it: an ember burning in the pit of his stomach and the tips of his toes.

“Andrew,” he said on an exhale, like his husband’s name was woven into his lips so naturally. Andrew tapped Neil’s thigh and nudged his nose to Neil’s cheek to let him know he was listening.

“I love you,” Neil said, and he knew it in English too: muffled down a phone line; teasingly, through the dark; a reminder texted thoughtlessly; loud and proud and matter of fact; a call and an answer and a call and an answer and again and again and again. “I love you so much.”

“I know,” Andrew said because he knew it too, in every language under the sun. He knew it over and over again, as many times as Neil did, as intimate and as important and as whole. “I love you too, Neil Minyard-Josten.”


End file.
